An hour after the incident in the gallery, Jo was sitting in the back of the
Rolls next to a very quiet Harry.

"Jonathan, I think I'll go home."

The chauffeur didn't take his eyes off of the road. "Lady Collingford
instructed me to take you to Castleton Lodge"

"I know what my mother said, but I want to go home."

Jonathan gave a short nod and immediately took a sharp left.

Jo now had her eyes closed and was pinching the bridge of her nose between
thumb and forefinger.

"Jo?" Harry reached across and laid a hand on her friend's shoulder.

"I'm fine, just a bit of a headache."

Jo was remembering coming to awareness and finding herself surrounded by a
dozen or more curious faces. "They think I'm either pregnant or drugged up to
the eyeballs," she said with a tired sigh.

"Do you know what happened back there?"

Jo shook her head. "No. Just my wild ways catching up with me."

"It scared me a little, Jo," said Harry.

"Scared me too. I'm going to go home and go to bed. I don't think having just
four hour's sleep agrees with me." Jo eyed her best friend. "What do you want to
do?"

"I'll stay with you." A pause. "If that's ok."

"Of course it is. I could do with some company."

"I thought you already had some."

Jo shook her head. "I told her I probably wouldn't be back all day. She's
probably gone."

They were silent for a moment.

"Jo?" Harry looked across at her friend who was sitting quietly with her eyes
closed. The dark-haired woman didn't answer but turned blue eyes on her.

"Doesn't matter," said Harry, just as the Rolls pulled into the
courtyard.

As Jo had suspected, the small house was empty, her guest had left. Harry
dropped onto the chair and watched as Jo eased her body into the sofa Her back
was hurting where she had twisted as she fainted, and her head was thumping.

"Shall I make some tea?" Harry asked, pulling herself up. "And I'll grab you
some painkillers." She didn't wait for an answer and made her way to the
kitchen.

Some ten minutes later, Harry emerged from the kitchen with a couple of mugs.
Jo was sitting on the sofa, her head resting against the back, her eyes closed.
"Sorry," Harry said as she placed the mug of tea on the coffee table and put a
couple of Nurofen in Jo's hand. "Take these, then see if you can get to sleep."

Harry watched her with worried eyes.

They had been friends for many years, but at no time desired to take their
relationship any further. Both acknowledged the other's beauty, but neither
found the other physically alluring. True, Harry was blonde, and every woman Jo
had ever wooed had been blonde, but Jo always thought of her as just a good
friend. And she didn't want to complicate their very close relationship with
sex.

After taking the tablets and drinking her tea, Jo quickly made herself
comfortable and started to drift off.

"Jo?"

"Mmm?" was the sleepy response.

"Did you know the girl in the picture?" Harry sank into the plush armchair,
taking in her friend's profile, barely visible in the darkened room. Though only
two-thirty in the afternoon, it was a dull day, and, with the blinds pulled
closed, it was dark in the lounge.

Jo was quiet for a long time. "No, I don't think so."

"Well, you had a hell of a reaction to it." Harry studied the contents of her
mug for a long moment. "You said something. Before you passed out, you said
something."

It took quite an effort for Jo to open her eyes and turn them back towards
her friend. "What are you talking about?" There was a hint of annoyance in the
tired voice.

"You said, `It's her.`"

"'Her'?"

Harry shrugged. "That's what you said. That's why I wondered if you knew
her."

"No, I didn't know her. I'm just tired, Harry." Jo stood abruptly. "Look..."
She once again pinched the bridge of her nose. Her face was pale and her eyes
scrunched tightly shut. "Look," she said again, only softer. "I'm going to bed."
Her eyes opened and she looked at her friend. "You're welcome to stay... you
know that."

"Yeah, I know," said Harry, standing and giving her friend a peck on the
cheek. "You give me a shout if you need anything."

Jo smiled down at her friend. "I will." She gave her a brief squeeze on her
shoulder and disappeared up the short flight of stairs and into her bedroom. She
was asleep less than five minutes later.

Harry was dozing on the sofa, the TV remote control hanging precariously from
one hand. She flicked through the channels, her tired brain taking in the usual
Saturday evening fare of quiz shows and talent shows that terrestrial TV seemed
to think its customers preferred. Flicking to satellite, she found American
dramas. She came to one particular channel and dwelt a little longer there,
admiring the physique of the two leading ladies. Being one who spent most
Saturday nights in the bars and nightclubs of London, she wasn't familiar with
the usual Saturday night menu of shows. She made a mental note to get out the
manual for her VCR and to finally master setting the timer.

Whatever it was that she was watching ended, and she proceeded to flick
through the channels. She came across a rerun of some quiz show, and watched in
fascination as one of the contestants struggled with what was, to her, a simple
question. The quizmaster oozed self-admiration and posed the question again. A
few thousand pounds rested on his answer.

"Princess Anne is older than Prince Charles. True or False?... I'm going to
have to put the timer on."

"You don't want to change your mind?" The quizmaster tapped on his board with
his pen.

The contestant looked to the audience, obviously having family out there
somewhere. He looked like a man condemned, about to walk the final short
distance. "False," he said again, his voice cracking under the strain.

"You had six thousand pounds," the quizmaster said, his face impassive. There
was silence ... a long silence ... the tapping of the pen on the board the only
sound. "You now have twelve thousand pounds."

The audience erupted; the contestant looked just about ready to faint.

Harry switched channels quickly, unable to stand much more of the torture of
the poor man. He was only on six thousand pounds; what would happen when he got
to double figures and the more difficult questions? "Who the hell doesn't know
that Prince Charles is the oldest of the Royal kids?" Harry asked herself.

She flicked through a few more channels, watching some real life cop show
from the States for a while, and then coming across `The World's Scariest Police
Videos`, which contrary to the show's description seemed to all take place on
American highways.

It was then that she heard Jo. At first she thought she was calling for her,
but as she neared the bedroom door she realised that her friend was in some kind
of distress.

She burst into the room to find the naked, dark woman thrashing wildly in her
sleep, seemingly trying to disentangle herself from the duvet cover, which was
coming loose from the quilt. Cries, apparently of pain and anguish, came from
her.

"Jo, stop," she said, climbing onto the bed with her friend and trying to get
control of the long arms which threatened to deliver a painful blow in their
thrashing.

"Noo, don't go!" Jo sat bolt upright, her arms reaching for something unseen.
Her eyes were wide, scanning the dark of her bedroom, which was lit only by the
light from beyond the bedroom door.

The blue gaze fell upon her friend, then Jo's face twisted and she collapsed
back onto the bed and curled in on herself. Her arms were crossed across her
chest, as if she was in great pain.

"Jo?" It was like the calm after the storm; only the ragged breathing of the
tall woman was audible now. Harry reached out and laid a hand on a heaving
shoulder. "Are you alright?"

Jo didn't reply for a long moment. "What time is it?" Her voice was hoarse,
her breathing just coming under her control.

"Um." Harry turned her watch towards the light filtering through the doorway.
"Just after nine-thirty."

Jo eased herself out of bed, wondering how she missed running the London
marathon earlier that day. Surely she must have; her body was certainly telling
her that it had gone through some sort of traumatic event that day. She pulled
on a robe and shuffled out of the room, watched all the time by a bemused
Harry.

Harry shook her head and followed her friend down to the lounge.

"What is this?" asked Jo, trying to focus sleepy eyes on the TV, which was
showing the view from a police car as it followed a motorcyclist across rough
ground.

Harry picked up the remote and silenced the TV.

Jo sat on the sofa, Harry on the armchair.

"You ok?" asked the blonde.

Jo looked as though she'd been awake a week, instead of asleep for the past
few hours. "Nightmare. Christ, I haven't had a nightmare since I was at boarding
school. Had them all the time there. Bloody nuns."

"You want to tell me what it was about?"

Jo shrugged. "Can't really remember."

"But you know it was a nightmare?"

"I was scared." Jo shook her head gently. "I know I was scared."

"Was someone chasing you?" Harry leaned forward, her elbows on her knees, her
chin cupped in her hands.

Jo thought for a moment. "No, someone was leaving me." She was remembering
the dream, remembering the feeling of pain and helplessness. "There was nothing
I could do. No way I could reach her."

"Her?" Harry sat upright; now this was getting interesting.

Jo sighed, a long, knowing sigh. Harry must think she was losing her
marbles.

"Was it...?" Harry began.

Another sigh, and Jo nodded her head. "It was the girl in the picture."

"So, you do know her?"

"I'm sure I don't." She leaned her head against the sofa back. "I mean, I
don't think so. I've met a lot of women...." She paused hearing Harry's
snort.

"Sorry," said the blonde.

"How would I know someone who lives on the street?"

"Maybe she hasn't been on the street long."

Jo ground the heel of her hand into her forehead, trying to ease the pain
that was building there. "She just turned away from me and left me."

Harry watched Jo carefully; the woman looked distraught. Her hair was stringy
and falling in a tangled mess about her shoulders. A sheen of sweat covered her
face and chest. Her hands clutched at the material of her robe. "Can you
remember how the dream started?"

Jo was silent, and for a while Harry wondered if she was going to answer.

"I was walking through..." she thought for a moment, "... alleyways, I think.
It was somewhere dark, and cold."

"And she was there?"

"Not to start with. But then she was."

Harry squirmed on the chair, intrigued. "Did you talk to her?"

One perfectly formed eyebrow rose and blue eyes pinned the blonde. "This is a
dream, Harry. I can remember snippets, images, feelings. I can't remember
conversations."

"So, what did you feel?"

Jo looked into the artificial flames of the fire. "Cold, I felt cold."